The 74th Annual Hunger Games
by Megface
Summary: Primrose Everdeen's name is called at the 74th Hunger Games, with only the wind there to take her place. She is forced to participate in the Games, where she befriends and competes with Rue, Thresh, and Peeta. MILD violence and mild adult themes.
1. Chapter 1: My Family

**Prim**.

Chapter 1: Family.

I wake early on the morning of the Reaping, surprised that I was even able to sleep a wink last night. The room is dusky, the morning rays not quite poking their heads through the cracked window in my mother's room. I rub my eyes, accepting that I won't be able to sleep a minute more today, and untangle myself from my mother's arms. I trudge into the kitchen and poke my head into Katniss' room. Unlike me, she seems to have very little difficulty sleeping on Reaping day. I take a chunk of goat's cheese from the store, and wrap it in some leaves with a small slice of bread. As I place the little parcel on the table, my fat cat Buttercup pads her way into the room.

"Good morning Buttercup. Are you here for your breakfast?"

She gives a small mew and rubs herself against my leg. I give her a scratch between the ears and she follows me down the stone steps and into the cellar. By the time we return to the kitchen, the small package of cheese and bread is gone, along with Katniss' hunting jacket. I sigh to myself. Of course Katniss won't be able to sleep either. I place Buttercup's bowl on the floor and then set about making breakfast for mother and myself. Supplies have been meagre this year, and we are barely making it by with the tessarae and the meat that Katniss provides. Which is why I went behind my family's back and signed up for extra tessarae. I will not have Katniss taking all the weight for our survival. Besides, soon she won't be able to sign up any longer, and better that I get a head start. I sneak into the room that I share with Katniss and find the small hole in the wall in which I keep the extra grain and oil that I hide from my family each month. Creeping back into the kitchen, I start a fire on the stove and take a grimy pan from the wall. Mixing the grain with the oil and adding goat's cheese, I am able to make my best attempt at pancakes, and soon the small cottage smells delicious. I add some herbs from the collection I have gathered in the district, and add them to the pan, just as my mother comes into the room. She kisses me softly and I turn my back on the cooking for a moment.

"Katniss will be okay, won't she mum?"

She smiles and squeezes my cheek.

"Of course she will sweetheart. She goes hunting every morning. She's fine."

"I'm talking about the Reaping."

"Let's not talk about it Prim." My mother's eyes look tired, as if the years of worrying have physically aged her.

"But what if-"

"That smells delicious, Primrose. I really don't know where you get your knack for cooking from."

I smile.

"Surely not you, mother."

It feels that the morning flies by, as always is the case when there is something you're dreading. I take a bath and try to ready my hair, and my nerves, for the Reaping. It's my first year, and despite the extra tessarae I signed up for in secret, I'm not worried about myself. Nobody from District 12 has ever been picked at such a young age. But Katniss… She must be in the Reaping at least fifteen times. Being a small district, there can't be that many kids, there can't be that many names. I dry myself off with a small towel just as Katniss arrives back home with the game. I pass her on her way to the bathroom. She's nervous – I can tell, although she hides it well from our mother. She gives me a wink as she makes her way past me.

"Best get myself brightened up, eh, Prim?"

In our room, I find a sky blue blouse with a matching skirt, the same outfit Katniss has worn for the Reaping for years. It's been ironed and creased, and is still a shade too big. Katniss has always been bigger than me. I change quickly and silently, and then find my mother in the kitchen. She pulls a comb through my straggly blonde hair and ties it in two braids with blue ribbon. As much as I am now an adult in the Capitol's eyes, I am a child in hers. She pinches my cheeks and smiles. Katniss enters next, looking older than her years in one of mother's old dresses. Mother sits her down and I watch as her fingers fly, braiding her hair in a complicated spiral. When she finishes, she goes into her room to prepare herself. Reaping begins at noon, and we cannot be late.

Katniss pulls me over to her and sits me on her lap, the same way she has done since I was tiny.

"Prim… If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?"

I smile, because it is so rare to have these moments with my sister.

"Of course Katniss. What is it?"

She glances at the door through which our mother disappeared.

"Prim, I'm running away…"

"What? Katniss, you can't."

"No, listen, me and Gale have it all sorted out. We're going to do it tonight. After the Reaping."

I am silent. If I know my sister, I know that she's not joking.

"Prim, you have to come with us. Gale is going to bring his brother's and Hazelle, and you and mother must come along too."

"We can't just _leave_."

"We can, and we must, Prim. We'll be fine, trust me."

"I do. I do trust you Katniss."

"But you'll come?"

I pause. We can hear mother's footsteps as she leaves her bedroom.

"How will you persuade mum?"

"It doesn't matter. Will you come?"

I nod. I will follow my family wherever they go, whether it's the end of the earth or straight into a trap.


	2. Chapter 2: The Reaping

Chapter Two: Reaping.

Quite a crowd has already gathered in the square by the time we arrive. A large stage has been assembled in front of the Justice Building, and on it stands a large podium, and two large glass bowls full of paper. Just seeing the slips makes my stomach churn. How many of them have Katniss' name on? I cling to my mother's hand, but she kisses me softly on the cheek and Katniss takes me lightly by the elbow. I feel dizzy. I've never seen the Reaping from the other side of the rope. How does Katniss manage it by herself?

I am separated from my sister when we are sectioned off by gender and age. I spot Gale, and he gives me a light wink, before turning his attention back to Katniss. I scan the crowd for my mother, but her dark Seam features are pasted onto many of the faces, and from this distance it's impossible to see. Next to me is a girl from my class, Petruva Speales. I've never spoken to her much, but she gives me a small smile. Her father owns the chocolate shop on the square, a luxury that we've never been able to afford. One morning in school, I got her out of trouble with a teacher, and she handed me a small slice of creamy milk chocolate. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever had tasted, and my plans to save some for Katniss went out of the window. Later that day, I felt so guilty, I spurted the whole story out to my family, who merely laughed and said that they would have done the same thing.

Effie Trinket now takes to the stage. She's a pretty woman, with pale pink hair, and a bright, smiling face. Although she seems positive, she also seems rather dim, and I can remember several occasions in the past where she has been less than sensitive towards tributes. She is followed onto stage by Mayor Undersee and our one surviving victor, Haymitch Abernathy. He's drunk, and staggers onto his seat with a loud belch. A more sympathetic audience may have laughed, but you can feel the tension radiating from everyone present. Mayor Undersee begins with a speech about the Hunger Games and their purpose, but he too seems distracted. His own daughter, Madge, is in the Reaping several times this year, the same age as Katniss. Effie now stands before the podium and begins bubbling away about how excited she is for this year's Games. She gives a nervous laugh and hopes that the odds are "ever in our favour". Poor Effie. She knows that half the district hates her, and for what? Don't shoot the messenger.

She turns to the two glass balls and gives a large smile.

"Ladies first," she chirrups.

She rummages around through the paper slips in that bowl, and I stare hard at them. I imagine her hand tumbling past a dozen with Katniss' name on them. I will her grasping fingers to avoid plucking my sister's name from the bowl, to grab paper with another name, any name-

"Primrose Everdeen."

-My name. I am confused, for a moment, to see the faces pointed in my direction, caught up as I was in my fantasy. It's only when the Peacekeeper nearest to me takes my arm do I realise what has happened. As he pulls me forward, I swivel in his grasp to find my sister's face. She is white, and her mouth moves, but I don't hear the words she's saying. She is silenced by a Peacekeeper, and her voice echoes around the square, until a-thousand Katnisses are calling to me, telling me that "it'll be okay, Prim". But it won't. The square is silent, watching, as the Peacekeeper drags her away. I fumble against the arms pulling me forward. I struggle to reach my sister, and another officer takes hold of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gale, and he is looking right at me. I can see it in his eyes, in his posture. _"Don't let them get to you, kid. Don't let them see you're scared."_

I snap my head back to the front and stop struggling. My mind is still aching to find Katniss, to make sure she's safe, to allow her to tuck me up inside our bed and sing me to sleep, but I can't. I take a long, quivering breath, and ascend the stage.

In her merit, even Effie seems disturbed. I stand there, chin in the air, still as a statue, as she addresses the audience.

"Any volunteers?" she implores them. They are silent. They are sorry, but they are helpless. I see faces now. The goat man from whom I trade the seed for my goat. My kind teacher, who lets me sit in the infants class and teach them to read and sow. The baker who gives me bread when I need it and saves his special smile for me on my way home from school. I can read it in their eyes. Pity. Nobody wants to see a twelve-year old on their way to an early grave.

The boy tribute is picked, and to my surprise, it's the baker's son, Peeta Mellark. He's in Katniss' year at school, but he often chats to me when I come by the bakery to trade my cheese for bread. He smiles at me as he comes to stand by me on the stage, and I am aware of how tall he is. If the other tributes are built like him, then I don't stand a chance. Not that I would even if I was facing an arena full of sheep. There is no way I will kill another soul, whether it be for the public's entertainment or my own survival.

Effie and Haymitch say a few more words, but the ceremony is subdued, even more so than usual. Peeta and I are frogmarched inside the Justice Building by two Peacekeepers, and as I swing through the doors, I finally catch a glance of my mother's face. I wish I hadn't, because as soon as we enter the building, my knees go weak and I fall from the world.


	3. Chapter 3: Wrong Goodbye

Chapter Three. Trust.

I sit in a small, cosy room, swamped by a large leather armchair. A fire is blazing in the corner, but the heat is slightly too unbearable. I feel like burying my head into the folds of the chair, but remember Gale's quiet reminder. _They're always watching._ It's here that they allow us one final goodbye, because for me, it's sure to be a goodbye. I want to be strong for my mother, for Katniss, but I'm sure it's not possible. How can it be when I feel such an aching desire for somebody to burst down the door and tell me there has been a horrible mistake. But of course, nobody comes.

The clock in the corner tolls and on it's final peal, the door opens and in comes my mother. She crosses the room in two steps, and kneels at my chair, pressing my hands against her lips. Her body is racking in sobs, and she can't look into my eyes.

And so it goes on. First my mother, who brings me to tears the moment she enters the room. Next, three of my best friends, who promise to take care of my goat until- they fall silent, because we all know there's no until. Peeta's father comes next, which surprises me. He is tearful, and he promises that Peeta will do whatever he can to protect me. I tell him he doesn't need to, that we all know what the outcome will be. He presses my palm to his cheek and swears that he will never let my family go hungry. This, at least, is promising. My class teacher is so hysterical she hardly stays for a minute. And then comes Gale. His face is stony, but thankfully, tearless.

"Prim, your sister's on her way in. Are you okay?"

I look at him, eyebrow raised.

"I've had a rather soggy afternoon," I answer, and he smiles.

"Oh, Prim… Listen, you need to pay very close attention to what your sister says to you, okay?"

I glance at him, puzzled.

"…Okay?"

He scours around the room and then comes to sit on the armchair beside me.

"But just in case… Don't tell your sister I'm telling you this, but, Prim, I want you to remember that they don't own you… The Capitol… They have no right to turn you into a monster."

"I know."

"Nor do they have the right to tell you that you can't win." He sighs. "I know that you've already convinced yourself that you're a hopeless case, but you've got some of your sister's fight in you. And they won't expect it from you. Don't underestimate yourself, okay?"

"Okay…"

"And Prim? Don't let them see you're scared, remember. It won't do you any favours."

He looks at me as if he would like to say more, but then pulls me into a bear hug. This is the most comfort I've felt all day. It's like having a brother, a father, someone big and strong and powerful to look after me. He breaks away and takes my hand.  
>"I'll see you around." He winks.<p>

He turns away, leaving me with a small smile on my face and an object in my hand. I open my palm to find a golden pin, in a gleaming circle, with the figure of a bird. A mockingjay. I look up, puzzled, but Gale has gone. I pocket the small brooch just as my sister bursts into the room.

"Prim!" She scoops me into her arms and sits me onto her lap. For a minute she sits there, un-braiding my hair and combing it through her fingers. I close my eyes, and for a moment, I'm home again.

"I'm going to miss you, Katniss." I don't cry, which surprises me, as I can feel the tears choking up my throat and burning the corners of my eyes.

"No you're not, Prim. I meant what I said earlier. We're going to escape. Don't interrupt, just listen. When they take you onto the train, you're going to be pretty much surrounded all the time, which means that if we're going to rescue you, it's gonna have to be before that. And that means soon. Once we're done talking, Gale is going to go talk to Peeta. That's the distraction. They won't move you until Peeta is finished with his visitors, so you're going to sneak out and meet me at the back of the building. Gale will meet us there and we'll take off."

"What about mum?"  
>"We'll come back for her one day. But you're our priority now."<br>"Katniss, you shouldn't talk about this. There must be another option."

"No, Prim, there isn't. I've already asked everyone I can think of if I can volunteer to take your place-"

"No!"

"-but they won't allow it. The allocated time is up. This is our only choice."

"What about Peeta? Can't we take him with us?"

She smiles.

"Primrose Everdeen, for once in your life, try helping yourself, and not everybody around you." She clucks me under the chin.

"What if it doesn't work?"

Katniss turns me around so that I'm facing her.  
>"It will."<p>

"But-"

"And if it doesn't, then I'll just have to see you after the Games."

I smile sadly, because even she has no faith that I can win.

"I guess so."

She kisses me on the cheek and sits quietly for a long moment, just looking at me.

"How have you grown up so much in just one day?"

I touch her cheek, where a tear has begun to roll silently down.

"Look after mum."

"Of course." She puts a soft fingertip under my chin and lifts my head.

"I love you Prim."

"I love you too Katniss."

"But we _will_ get you out of here."

And with that, she leaves the room, leaving me with no small token in my hand, only a heavy, heavy heart.

Katniss has given me no clue as to when I ought to leave to meet her, but I assume that it's safe to wait five minutes before I sneak out. To my surprise, there is no Peacekeeper outside my door. Either he decided I was too small and delicate to bother with, or Gale has made quite a ruckus with Peeta. I easily find my way to the back doors of the Justice Building, not bothering with the front, which I know will be heavily guarded. I am fully prepared to hide at any intrusion, but I find no evidence of Peacekeepers. Strange… I push open the door and crouch down in the bushes outside the building, and I wait. The sun is just beginning to set, casting dusky shadows across the square, when I hear it.

"PRIM! NO! PRIM!"

"Katniss!"

I am on my feet before I can stop myself, and I race towards the sound of her voice. And there she is, Katniss, being dragged backwards across the square by four Peacekeepers, kicking and biting and scratching, reaching towards me.  
>"KATNISS!"<p>

I launch myself forward once more, but strong arms hold me in place. I squirm and struggle to be freed, until I realise that these arms are gentle, and apologetic, and smell yeasty and warm. I turn around in surprise.

"They won't hurt her, Prim." Peeta smiles at me gently. "You're so tiny, but so strong! You're gonna have no problem in the Games."

I start to sob.

"But- but-"

Peeta takes me hand and leads me back inside the building, where I can already hear Effie calling my name.

"Listen to me Prim. Running away won't help you or your sister. You've got to be strong for her."

I look at him reproachfully.

"And what if I don't trust you?"

He chuckles softly, just as Effie turns the corner and finds us.

"We'll have to work on that then, won't we."


	4. Chapter 4: The Arrival

_[Author's note: Thank you so much for the positive feedback! This is my first fanfic and I'm enjoying writing it so much! Clearly nothing can ever be as good as Susanne Collin's original, but I just love to explore new characters and scenarios. Sorry for breaking the 4th wall, I promise it won't happen again. At all. I just wanted to say thanks! Now back to the story. xx]_

Chapter Four.

We are led immediately from the Justice Building to the station, where we are bundled onto a large train, which will take us from District 12. I feel a bubble of excitement at the thought of finally seeing the Capitol, until I remember that it might be the last thing I do see. Peeta and I are divided as we are shown to our individual carriages. As I sit down on the large bed, I feel the lump of metal in my pocket, and I allow myself a small smile. Gale has faith in me where Katniss does not. How can she? She's never been there to see the steps I take to ensure that mother is happy and healthy, that the people around me are smiling, that our dusty cottage is warm and bright. She doesn't see how I help our mother with patients, how I pick the herbs and seed to make food and medicine, how I churn the butter into cheese. I hold tightly to the pin and allow myself a small shred of hope. Perhaps it's not time to give up quite yet.

Effie stops by my carriage and leads me into the dining hall down the corridor. Peeta and Haymitch sit around a large table, being served various dishes by waiters and waitresses. I take my place opposite Peeta, gazing around at the platters before me.

"This all looks amazing!" I sigh.

"Yes, but be careful not to eat too much," Effie warns, "you need to give your stomach a chance to adjust."

I throw Peeta a confused glance, which he returns with a shrug. I begin to pile my plate high with delicacies. Creamy mashed potatoes, moist green beans, a large ladle of some meaty stew with large caramelised onions, a bowl of vegetable soup with orange peel, and every kind of bread under the sun. Peeta keeps me entertained throughout the meal, picking up the various breads and rolls and explaining how each is different, as the specific bread of each district. A salty, fishy loaf for District 4, a flatbread for District 2, the dark, grainy rolls of District 12. In return, I describe all the different herbs that I use in my cooking at home, as I taste them in the dishes before me. Basil in the stew, chives in the soup, and a long green leaf in the bowl of mashed potato that I have yet to find the name for. Peeta smiles as I talk, even though I'm probably boring him half to death, and everything is going smoothly, until:  
>"Excuse me, can you tell me what the herb is in the mashed potato?" I ask one of the servers as she leans over me to pick up an empty dish. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head, hurrying off without collecting the dish. I turn to see the others gawping at me. "What?"<p>

"Primrose, you can't talk to them, they're Avoxes." Effie says.

"So?"

"So, you don't talk to them, okay?" She doesn't look angry, in fact, she looks a mixture of pained and sympathetic.

"Sorry," I say, and stay quiet for the rest of the meal, head down.

We finish off a dessert of gooey chocolate pudding, and then Effie smiles heartily and addresses the table.

"We have a big day tomorrow. We should be arriving at about midday, so before then, I would like you to get a good nights sleep. There's nothing as bad as tired eyes on the camera." She shakes her head, as if she had no more troubles in the world other than tired eyes. "Why don't we watch a recap of the Reaping?" None of us are terribly thrilled by the idea, but I smile enthusiastically anyway. '_Don't shoot the messenger'_, I think. Effie orders a pot of hot chocolate, which turns out to be exactly what it sounds like: melted chocolate mixed in with thick, creamy milk, and the most delicious drink I've tasted.

The Reapings take place at the same time up and down the nation, and attendance is mandatory unless you're severely ill or dying, so they do a live broadcast of re-runs, with a narrator describing the events as they unfold. Districts 1, 2 and 4 are all volunteers, what I've heard Gale describe as "Careers", and they all look tall, well-fed and stocky. They snarl at the audience and the boy from 2 even pumps his fists in delight. District 3's boy is thin, but wiry. District 5's girl has dark red hair and a foxface. District 10 has a boy with a crippled leg, and I will somebody to volunteer to take his place, but nobody does. District 11's male tribute is a huge, muscly boy, with dark skin and hair, who looks at the camera with such piercing eyes that you feel he's accusing you of his fate. The girl picked from 11 is the same age as me, with olive skin and long hair and big eyes. She can hardly step foot on the stage when an older looking girl volunteers from the crowd. She hugs the girl and takes her place on the stage. I imagine this is my reaping, that Katniss had managed to take my place. The Tributes from 11 stick in my head. I smile despite myself, remembering what Katniss told me years ago. _'They make alliances. If they're smart, they choose somebody they can trust.'_ They show District 12, show Katniss calling my name. Thankfully, they cut out the bit where I struggle to reach her, so all the audience can see is a small, blonde haired girl, holding herself as if she's been waiting for years to take the stage. Peeta's name is called and the voice-over comments on our strikingly similar features: the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the pale, malnourished faces.

Peeta and Haymitch stay a little longer in the carriage, analysing the opponents strengths and weaknesses, body types and districts, but Effie and I go to bed. I don't want them to feel I'm weak because I'm tired, but I am physically and emotionally exhausted. My eyes shut in spite of themselves as soon as my head hits the pillow, and I don't awake until a red-headed Avox girl opens the door to my compartment. With a start, I realise that she's the same girl I almost got in trouble last night. She places a folded set of clothes on the end of my bed and turns to leave, but I stop her.

"Sorry I nearly got you in trouble." I say quietly. She shakes her head and continues to leave. "Thank you for-" But she's gone, quickly and silently through the door. I sigh and reach for the clothes that have been left for me. A simple green cotton jacket and a pair of leggings. I slide them on and examine my reflection. My hair is still in the two braids that my sister tied for me before I left, my eyes look tired and red, and I look far too skinny. I look like a child, and part of me wishes I didn't. Sponsors are never going to pay for a child.

I make my way into the neighbouring carriage for breakfast, my appetite lessened after last night's meal. Peeta is sat at the table, helping himself to a portion of fruit, when I enter. Nobody else is present, so I jump straight to the question that's been on my mind.

"Peeta? Why won't the Avoxes speak to me?"

He puts down his spoon and surveys me across the table.  
>"Jesus, Prim, you're so-" He cuts himself short, but I know what he was going to say. Young, naïve, vulnerable. He lowers his voice. "They're not trying to ignore you, Prim. The Avoxes are criminals who have been captured by the Capitol and pay for their crimes by serving Capitol citizens. They can't be seen communicating with us, it could get them in trouble." He hesitates.<p>

"What?" I push.

"And they can't exactly speak. Their tongues have been removed… As part of the punishment."

I stare at him.  
>"That's sick! They can't do that, surely they can't! Hasn't anyone tried to stop them!"<p>

"Prim! You can't talk like that!" He reaches across the table and takes my hand, "You need to be careful what you say, okay? You might get in trouble."

"Who's getting in trouble?" Comes a voice from the doorway. Haymitch stomps his way in, bottle in hand, and slams it on the table. The smell of alcohol is enough to make me light headed. I lean across the table and grab the bottle before he can have another swig. "Hey!"

"You shouldn't be drinking, Haymitch. Not at this time in the morning."

Haymitch glares at Peeta, who shrugs.

"And you'd know all about the appropriate time to drink, would you, young lady?"

I meet his angry gaze.

"Actually, we have drunk men falling over each other outside our house at times. Mother usually forces me to deal with them, and I can assure you, I have a rough hand."

Peeta bursts out laughing, and Haymitch grunts and leans back on his chair. I put the bottle down on the floor, not entirely sure whether I won the fight or not. At this point, however, Effie comes in.

"How did we all sleep?" she asks chirpily, and then, without waiting for a response, "Now, we have a busy day today. We should be arriving in the Capitol in a few hours, where you will meet your prep teams and get ready for the opening ceremony tonight. It's an opportunity for you to make a great first impression on the audience, so don't take it lightly. All okay?"

We nod, and Haymitch grunts his approval.

"Eat up now, Prim. You'll be glad you did."

Half an hour later and Haymitch has Peeta and I lined up against the wall. He still hasn't had a swig of alcohol, which I consider to be an impressive feat. He paces in front of us, eyeing us both up.

"Hmmm… We'll have to try and toughen you both up for the crowd. You look a little meek. As for you," he points a finger at me, "we need to get rid of the pigtails for a start. A bit of make-up wouldn't hurt either. We can play the little girl card, but you still need to look old enough to hold a weapon." I begin protesting but then shut my mouth. At least he's being honest. "Peeta. You need to build up a little more muscle. Your team might be able to help with that, but there's only so much they can do. Hmm."

And with that, he marches out of the room. I turn to smirk at Peeta, but find him staring it me, an odd frown on his face.

"You're very like your sister." He says in response to my questioning look.

"No I'm not. I'm just a kid."

"Maybe… But you remind me of her. You're older than you should be."

I smile, not sure whether he just gave me a compliment or a back-handed insult.

"You knew Katniss well then, I guess?"

It's his turn to smile then.

"I suppose I did."

"Funny. She didn't ever mention you."

His smile fades and he takes me by the arm.

"Come on then Prim. Let's go get ourselves ready."


	5. Chapter 5: An Entrance

Chapter Five.

I sit on my bed and pick away at the soft, downy fabric lining the mattress. I find myself wondering how many Tributes before me sat on this exact spot, with tired eyes and knots the size of rocks in their stomachs. The world rushes past underneath my feet, and some part of me wishes that the train will be swallowed into the darkness of a tunnel and never return. I see my sister's face, and I hear her piercing shriek as she is dragged across the square, away from me. She's okay. She must be, our Peacekeepers hate punishment. And I can trust that Gale will protect her and my mother. I can't worry about them any more. Whilst I still believe that I don't stand a chance in the Games, I also refuse to give up. It's like Gale told me: _"They don't have the right to tell you that you can't win"._ Stranger things have happened in the past. I owe it to Katniss to try my best. But I won't lose myself. _"They have no right to turn you into a monster"._

The train slows to a halt, and there is a rap on my door. I pull it open to find a bright-eyed Effie.  
>"Well, Primrose… Welcome to the Capitol!"<p>

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I follow her out into the station with a new feeling: a feeling that it's not over yet.

We hardly catch a glimpse of the tall, sleek streets of the Capitol, before we are escorted into a large building, one that I recognise immediately from my years of watching the Games. The Training Centre. This is the place that I will call my home for the next few weeks. We are hurried onto an elevator, and I get the feeling that they are keen to keep each District's Tributes away from each other until we have been officially "unveiled". The elevator doors slide open seconds later, and I am greeted by a flamboyant, blue haired woman with a face covered in gold tattoos.

"Primrose? Primrose Everdeen? I am so ex-ci-ted to meet you!" She takes my hand and pulls me away from the others. I glance back at Haymitch and Effie, but they smile encouragingly (well, Haymitch's smile is less encouraging, and more cruel. I guess he's still bitter about me taking away his alcohol). I am led into a room and greeted by a pair of equally as outrageously dressed stylists. They introduce themselves as my prep team: Venia, Octavia and Flavius. They chat away in affected accents and I am interested enough in their words that I hardly notice them working away at my body. They are fascinatingly different. They talk of nothing but parties and food and hardships involving hairnets and tattoos. I would love to join in, but I find that I know nothing of this strange world they live in. It's hard to believe that a meagre few hours ago, I was in District 12, where I'd never even heard of the various delicacies they describe. Venia, the tallest of the three, who fusses about my eyebrows, is kind enough to interrupt the conversation occasionally to ask me about life in 12, but after a few attempts to describe my home, I can see that I'm only succeeding in dampening their spirits, so for the most part, I smile and create some wishy-washy answer about trees and goats and freshly baked bread. All three break in their wave of endless chatter simultaneously, and it's eerie, the silence as they step back and admire their work.

"You stayed very still for us. Took us half the time it does with the others," Flavius nods approvingly. I remember my mother scolding my sister for being surly, and I can almost hear her voice now: _"Nobody says that a Tribute can't be polite and well-mannered, Primrose. You're a young lady."_

My thoughts are broken by the arrival of a fourth party, a young man with close-cropped hair and a serene face. If it weren't for the gold eyeliner subtly placed under each lid, I might have mistaken him for a citizen of one of the Districts. He smiles and comes to shake my hand.

"You must be Primrose-"

"Prim." I correct him.

"Prim," he repeats, "Good to meet you. My name is Cinna, I'm your stylist."

This man is my stylist? He seems so… _normal_ compared to my prep team, who are packing up their tools and leaving silently.

"So, Prim. Let me just have a look at you for a minute."

I almost cringe under his professional gaze, as I haven't been so exposed to anyone, not even my mother, for years. But Cinna is sympathetic, and is quick, sparing me at least a shred of modesty. I pull on my robe and he ushers me into the next-door room, where there is a small table laden with a large silver platter. He offers me a seat and takes the other.

"You must be hungry. I'm afraid my prep team sometimes forget about the basic human need to eat."

I hadn't noticed it, but as soon as he pulls the lid off the dish, my stomach gives a loud rumble. I giggle.

"That smells delicious!" I exclaim.  
>"Chicken in a cream and orange sauce. One of my personal favourites."<p>

I can't help staring at him enviously. To have all these meals available at his fingertips, to be able to pick and choose favourites and throw away the things he dislikes…

"You must think I'm terribly greedy," he smiles, and I shake my head.

"No, I just can't imagine eating such incredible food every day."

I take a bite of chicken and feel a stab of nostalgia. I remember the day, way back when my father was alive, when he managed to hunt a chicken. We had no idea where it came from, but my mother was so excited, she insisted we go all out and make a good meal of it. So the next day, she went out and bought milk and herbs and warm, garlicky bread. She cooked the chicken up in a special sauce and we dipped the bread in as we ate. It was so good that Katniss and I ended up scraping the pan with a spoon to savour every last scrap. Even that dish pales in comparison with the one I am tasting now.

I feel Cinna watching me and I look up to meet his gaze. He shakes his head, as if unscrambling his thoughts, and then smiles back at me.

"Right, let's talk about tonight's outfit, shall we?"

I can't help but feel excited about getting dressed up and making a powerful first impression, as Effie assures us we will. The "practical" clothes we have to wear in District 12 are dull to say the least, and I rarely have the opportunity to wear the beautiful fabrics and silks from the Capitol.

"You probably don't know this, but this is my first year at the games, too, and what I want more than anything is for both you and I to be remembered. Don't you agree?" I nod. "Portia, that's Peeta's stylist, and I have decided we want to do coordinated outfits. That way you and Peeta will enter as a team, and what looks more powerful than a united front?" I nod again in agreement. "Of course, we're still restricted to the District theme, but we have an idea that will be truly unforgettable."

I grin at him.  
>"That's what I like to hear."<p>

I am dressed in a simple black unitard from head to foot, with a long cape in hues of yellow and red, and a black head-dress. My face has been left to it's own devices, with only a small amount of shading and highlighting here and there. "We don't want to destroy those natural looks, do we?" Cinna says. He struggled with what to do to my hair. Whilst everyone was in agreement that the two braids look simple and effective, they're still not sure if they want to use my innocence to my advantage or mask it, so Cinna pulls a few wisps off my face and leaves it to wave along loosely behind me. Usually, this would meet with complete failure, but the prep team seem to have added something to make my hair glossy and voluminous, as opposed to it's usual limp state. We meet with Peeta at the elevators, and I find that he is wearing an outfit almost identical to mine. He smiles at me as we enter the elevator.

"Has Cinna told you what our costumes can do yet?" he asks. I look up at Cinna, and see him grinning back down at me.

"I thought I'd leave it a surprise," he says, as the elevator doors slide open and we are hurried over to a large black carriage, pulled by two elegant horses. I pat the closest one on it's soft flank as Cinna helps me into the carriage. Peeta climbs in on the other side, and I look back down at Cinna.

"Gonna tell me what my costume's supposed to do?"

He shows me a button fixed to a battery pack on my back and instructs me to press it when we enter the arena. The Panem Anthem flares up and Cinna squeezes my hand.

"Smile and look excited. We want the audience to have a good first impression."

I look to my left and see Peeta, grit determination written all over his face. I nudge him and give him a wide smile, a gentle reminder to do the same. He takes my hand and holds it tight.

"Whatever happens Prim, we go into this together."

Almost as if on cue, the carriage begins to lurch forward. I grip Peeta's hand as we are pulled through a pair of dark doors and into a furnace of colour.

At first, I am so startled, so blinded by the noise, the crowds, the flashing of lights and cameras, that I forget all about my costume or Peeta or the games. I just stare stupidly around. Something to my left catches my attention, and with a yelp, I realise that Peeta is on fire. I snatch my hand away, and am about to holler at the top of my voice, when I feel a small pressure on my back. As Peeta draws his hand away, I catch sight of us in one of the large screens surrounding the audience. Despite the fluttering of my heart, Cinna has succeeded in making me look twice my years. Flames surround us both, at some moments gentle, and others fierce. Our faces look kind, fresh, youthful, but the flickering of the flames cast them into shadow and light, creating an image that is both entrancing and menacing. I feel Peeta take my hand again, and I snap back into reality. Remembering what Cinna told me, I crack my face into a winning smile, and wave at the audience. I can see them all watching us. Everyone in the stadium is staring, Tributes included, as we make our way down the long aisle between the crowds. I look at Peeta and see that he is laughing. The whole thing seems so mad that I feel like laughing too. Was it really merely days ago that I was lying in bed, worrying about what I would have left to feed Buttercup? Despite myself, I find the nearest camera, and look straight into it. I know that my family, that everyone at home, that everyone in the whole of Panem is watching me. I drop my smile, and I look, and as I look, I imagine Katniss' face. _Look at me, sister. How have you not noticed me growing up?_


	6. Chapter 6: A Warning

_[Author's note: sorry I haven't updated in a long time, I have had lots of exams. Anyway, here is a new chapter. I apologise if some of the characters seem a little OOC, I guess I think that the different scenario might make them act different. Anyway, hope you enjoy :) xx]_

Chapter Six.

When we finally return to our suite in the training centre, bursting with excitement. Effie wants to watch the recap of tonight's event immediately, but I insist on changing out of my still sizzling costume before we settle down. Out of the artificial light, the dimly lit room brings me back to feeling like a little girl again, and far from the majestic, confident young lady I embodied in the arena. Cinna follows me into my room to help me dress.

"You were fantastic out there, Prim. Your sister will be proud."

I shake my head.

"I still have no idea what I'm doing though." He helps me to unzip the back of my costume and it pools on the ground beneath my feet. "My sister is much better cut out for this than I am."

Cinna hands me a damp cloth and I begin to clean away the sooty residue from my fiery outfit.

"Your sister… The one at the Reaping, correct?" I nod, passing Cinna the cloth as he hands me a simple vest and leggings of a soft cream cotton. "You know, Prim, I am the oldest in a large family. I know it seems that people from the Capitol have life handed to us on a silver platter, but I care about my siblings too. I think I can understand your sister better than you may expect." I finish dressing and sit on the bed, facing him. "I don't want to believe that they can protect themselves because it will force me to face that they will, one day, grow up, and won't need me anymore."

"You're saying that Katniss doesn't want me to grow up…?"

"No, I'm saying that she has never seen your potential, because she's always been looking after you."

"But that's not the problem. I've never had the chance to do the things she has. I'm completely unprepared. I've never had to look after myself before."

Cinna sits down gently and takes my hands.

"Prim, you grew up in Twelve. You're stronger than half the kids who come here. I'm sure that as soon as Training begins, you'll realise you're more skilled than you give yourself credit for." I smile half-heartedly and he squeezes my hands. "Come on then. We can't make Effie wait any longer to fawn over how fabulous I made you look."

Cinna takes my hand and together we walk into the living room, where the seats have been arranged around the large screen on the wall. Peeta summons me to the spot next to him on the couch, and I squeeze over to give Cinna enough room to join us.

It's safe to say that Cinna and Portia blew the other contestants out of the water. The producer can't seem to get enough of our entrance, and keeps playing it over and over, with Claudius Templesmith's commentary becoming more and more animated. I can't take my eyes off the girl sitting next to Peeta. She is not me. She holds herself high, and there is a gleam in her eyes I have never seen in my own. She doesn't look like a child, her limbs look long and slender, her face lost of it's baby-fat and thrown into definition by the flames. The real me, the one sat in the living room, turns to see Peeta gawping back at me. I smile wickedly.

"What was it Haymitch said about looking weak?"

I am woken the next morning by a loud knocking on my door, and Haymitch's gruff voice calling me to breakfast. This puzzles me, as Effie is usually the one to summon us in the morning. I open the door, and Haymitch takes me by the arm and drags me into the living room. The sun is barely risen, and I wonder what time it is. Judging by my bleary-eyed reflection in the shiny surface of the television screen, I haven't had nearly enough sleep. He gestures to the sofa and orders me to sit and wait for him. He is only gone for a minute before returning with Peeta, who gives me a puzzled look.

"Right," Haymitch begins, "as you're aware, your training starts today-"

"What are you-" Peeta objects.

"That wasn't a question, now pay attention. You made quite the entrance last night, and the whole nation is intrigued. Tributes from Twelve rarely make it past the first few days of the Games, but the people they saw last night were powerful and grown up." He looks at me as he finishes his sentence, but when I open my mouth to argue back, he shushes me. "However excited the audience may be about you both, the other Tributes will not be. As far as they are concerned, you stole their thunder, and by doing so, you may have lost them sponsors."

"I thought gaining sponsors was the whole point." I say.

"It is, but you don't want to make enemies before you've even stepped foot in the arena."

"So, what are you saying?"

"In training today, I need you to be careful. I don't know if either of you have any particular talents, but I don't want you to give anything away. If the other Tributes see you as a threat, they will team against you."  
>"What if they want to form an alliance?" Peeta asks.<p>

"Tributes from Twelve are never included in Career packs." He sighs, "Look. Do what you want, okay? I'm just advising you that you might want to assess the mood of the other competitors before you start throwing your weight around the Training Centre."

"I'm just saying that there's a first for everything."

Haymitch snorts and then turns to me.  
>"As for you, girly, is there anything you're good at?"<p>

"I don't really know," I say, immediately regretting sounding so pitiful.

"Well, you need to get good at something. Don't be too good, but don't be too weak. You need to be average, that way you're not easy pickings but you're not a threat."

With that, he leaves, not allowing for any time for questions. My mind is reeling. Since I was picked as Tribute, I have been given a never ending flow of orders. _Don't let them see you're scared. Don't underestimate yourself. Don't make enemies. Don't be a threat, but don't be weak. _Although I have been told that there must be some hidden talent inside me, I have yet to discover what it could possibly be. I am still terrified that I will arrive in the Training Centre and be unable to even walk. I sink down into the sofa and shut my eyes. I've been gone only a few days and it feels as if I've spent a lifetime trying to act strong. I let out a long sigh, and it is echoed from the other end of the chair. With a start, I realise that Peeta is still in the room. I clear my throat and blink back the tears that had begun to fill my eyes.

"It's alright Prim. You're allowed to cry. I won't tell anyone." His voice is dull and monotonous, and I wonder if he's been putting on an act all along too.

"I know, but-" I catch his eye and he nods. _They're always watching._

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "I can't."

He smiles, "Yeah, me either." He gets up from the sofa and walks to the doorway, before stopping. I feel him watching me and I turn to look. He opens his mouth and then closes it. I see a flash of something across his face, but he leaves before I can say another word. I turn my head into the sofa so that nobody could see the weakness in my eyes, and then the drowsiness takes my body and I fall fast asleep.


	7. Chapter 7: An Ally

Chapter Seven.

The next day I spend attempting to follow Haymitch's advice. I watch, I observe, and I try to learn more about the people who would soon be hunting me. I can immediately tell the Careers from the others. They move in a pack, crowding each station and egging each other on. There's a girl who is good with a bow and arrow. Not as good as Katniss, but good enough to receive a few impressive glances from the others. Another girl can throw a knife with a terrifying accuracy. A big, blonde boy steers them all, cracks jokes about the other tributes, walks around as if he's been training for this his entire life. _But_, I remind myself_, he has been._ The Careers don't so much as glance my way.

The other tributes seem to have been told the same as us. Nobody is making enemies, and nobody is making friends. A redheaded girl sits quietly in the corner, watching. She looks my way occasionally, her eyes a piercing blue, and she cocks her head as if she's reading my mind. The two tributes from District 11 stay together, but don't speak very much. The boy, Thresh, is strong. At one point, the Career pack approaches him. I don't hear the conversation, but I imagine that they're trying to recruit him. He turns them down. He doesn't seem to be worried about making enemies. Occasionally, he looks my way, and once I caught him smiling, though whether at me or at some memory, I couldn't tell. He's tall and built, exactly the kind of person I would want to form an alliance with. _No Prim_,_ nobody will want you for an ally. Besides, Peeta will look after you._ Although, Peeta has been mysteriously quiet towards me. He seems to be focused on his own safety. I try not to be too resentful. Of course, he's a strong contender. He's probably hoping to win. If anyone should win, it should be Peeta.

At lunch, I am approached by the girl from 11. She sits quietly down on the bench opposite me and says nothing. We eat in silence, and then:

"How old are you?"

I look up and realise she's been watching me all this time.

"Twelve."

She nods and returns to her food. I watch her for a while, she notices but doesn't care. Here, somehow, being watched is a given. _Don't kid yourself, Prim, you've been watched your entire life_.

"Who was she? The girl you volunteered for?"

"Her name was Rue."

I remember that. I remember wondering if the same fear on her face was on mine the day my name was called.

"Why did you-" I trail off. Silence. She finishes her meal and places her cutlery down on the table.

"Why did I take her place?" She finishes for me. "Twelve is too young. Twelve never wins."

I nod slowly. I ought to feel scared, disappointed, but I don't.

"Twelve may be too young," I look her in the eye, "but twelve will fight as hard and run twice as fast."

She laughs, so loudly that some of the other tributes turn to look at us. I feel embarrassed, but when she finally looks at me again, there is a smile in her eyes, a warm crinkle that reminds me of my mother.

"My name is Keena."

I don't know what I did to gain her trust, but I return her smile.

"Primrose Everdeen. Prim."

That evening, I feel my confidence returning to me. I come to dinner refreshed and in high spirits.

"What's gotten into you today?" Peeta confronts me. I feel a surge of anger. _So now he'll speak to me._

I turn to the table and clear my throat. Haymitch, Effie, Cinna and Portia stop talking at once.

"I've decided I would like to make an alliance."

"That's wonderful!" Effie exclaims.

"No." Haymitch scowls at me, "You're not to make alliances. Not where the others can see. Your only partners are each other, you understand?"

"Great partner Peeta's been" I mutter. Apparantly not quietly enough.

"Peeta has being doing as he has been told. He's been training and keeping himself quiet, which is more than you can say. Watching people, making them suspicious, _talking_ to them. You think these people aren't going to try to kill you when you go out there?"

"I-"

Haymitch fixes me with a sarcastic glare.

"You think that you'll remind you of their sisters, of their friends. You think they wouldn't dare kill a twelve year old. Well here's news for you sweetheart: _every year, the youngest are the first to go._ So you better get a new head on you and I suggest you start tomorrow, because this is the last chance you'll get to learn to turn your daisy chains into knives."

I turn away from him and leave, not wanting him to see the tears stinging my eyes. Behind me I hear Effie scolding Haymitch, and his bitter reply.

"You want the girl to live Effie, you will let me do this my way, and will you damn well trust me."

Peeta finds me on the roof and perches next to me.

"He only said it to toughen you up."

"What do you care? Seems you're not so keen to team up with me now that you've seen the others."

"No. I was told not to be seen too much with you. Careers pick on other alliances, take them out before they become too strong. We don't want them targeting us."

That isn't the answer I was expecting.

"Why do you want to help me? You don't owe me anything."

"I think people underestimate you. Haymitch does, Effie does, everyone does. You shouldn't be babied. You're tough, I know it."

"You're wrong."

"No, I've seen what your sister can do, I-"

"I'm not Katniss!" I shout, "I'm not Katniss! I'm not my sister, and I wish people would stop saying that because we are _nothing_ alike! I can't do the things she can, I can't stand up for myself, I can't fight people, I can't _kill_. I'm not my sister! I just- I just want to go home, Peeta, I want to go home and I don't care what they do to me, or to my family, or to the entire District. I can't go through this alone, I just can't."

"You won't. Please Prim, stop saying this. Okay. Just stop. You need to train, you need to eat and get strong and not let them see you like this." I sniff. "_Look at me, Prim_." He cups my chin and I look at him. "I don't want to hear one more negative word. You think I'm not scared? I'm terrified. But you cannot, _cannot_, give up during training. Now tell me honestly, what are your strengths?"

I wipe the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. Peeta is right, of course. I've embarrassed myself. Everdeens are fighters, and it's time I showed it.

"Well, I'm good with plants. An-and, I helped my mother with patients all the time, I can heal people. But I'd be hopeless against a knife."

"Tons of tributes die from natural causes, not weapons. Concentrate on that. As for fighting, can you run?"

"I won the sprint five years in a row at school."

He smiles and chucks me under the chin.

"That's more like it. As for tomorrow, why don't you try your hand at some archery. Not whilst the Careers are around the station, mind. Learn to make some snares and use a knife. If we have time, you and I can sit down and you can teach me more about plants and healing."

"I thought we weren't meant to be seen as an alliance."

He winks at me.

"Nothing wrong with putting Haymitch in his place every once in a while. Now let's go to bed, you look as tired as I feel."

He gives me a one-armed squeeze, and that night I dream that I run all the way from the arena to District 12, where my sister holds me tight and my mother is smiling again.


	8. Chapter 8: Change

Chapter Eight.

The following morning, I retrieve my Mockingjay pin from the pocket of the dress I wore to the Reaping, and put it in my pocket. I take a deep breath and prepare to make a new start. It seems Effie has had words with Haymitch, as he approaches me after breakfast.

"Hey kid, I'm sorry I lost my temper," he mumbles, staring at the ground.

"No. I wanted to thank you, actually. I'm not the girl that I've been acting. I'm not weak. I don't want to allow the Games to change me, but I need to stop feeling sorry for myself."

He nods.

"That's all I needed to hear."

We arrive at the Training Centre early that morning, although most of the Tributes are already there, silently waiting for training to start. As soon as the doors open, the Careers head straight for the archery station. I glance at Peeta and he gestures to the station next to it: knives. That way, I can keep an eye on the Careers, and quickly slip into the station once they've left. The man at the knives station is stern and doesn't offer up any help. There is another Tribute there though: the boy from Eight, so I surreptitiously watch him and try to follow his technique. It turns out that there isn't much to knife throwing. It reminds me of games we used to play in school with metal disks and javelins. It's strange to think that at this moment my classmates will be thinking of me, saying prayers, whispering, avoiding my mother's gaze.

After half an hour I am beginning to feel positive. I am already as good as the boy on the other side of the station. I can hit the target and throw the knife in different ways. Even the cold man running the station seems to be impressed, and brings out the moving targets for me to practice on. And although I detest the thought of killing another human being, I have to admit that I like the feel of the handle, firm and shaped to fit my hand, the sensation of letting go, the sound of the blade through the air and then the satisfying _thunk_ as the knife meets it's wooden foe. For the first time, I feel dangerous. I picture myself, running through the woods like my sister, light-footed, impossible to catch, hair flowing in the wind, deadly with a knife, _alive_. I smile and see the boy watching me, wary-eyed. I feel the Mockingjay pin in my pocket and I look back at him. I feel wild, and perhaps he sees it too, because he blinks and turns away. _Good,_ I think, _It's about time somebody paid me some mind._

Peeta locates me an hour later, catching my arm just before I let another knife fly.

"I think that's enough of the knife throwing for now Prim," he mutters, "people will start noticing you..." I ignore the hint of warning in his voice.

"Good."

He chuckles.

"Come on, _I_ want to learn how to keep myself alive."

He peels me away from my beloved knives and leads me over to the far less popular plants and herbs station, where I begin to explain the various specimens laid out on the floor, describing their uses. We learn to identify poisonous plants, and how to find roots, berries and bark that will fill us up for longer. I teach Peeta how to tie a tourniquet, some basic ways to drain stings and poisonous wounds, how to stop bleeding, and how to make basic antibiotic ointments. I find myself wishing I'd had longer to train beside my mother. I'm bitterly aware that many of the injuries and problems we will endure in the arena will be far beyond my expertise, and our supply of herbs and plants will not be as extensive as the one we have today. I have conceded that in order to survive, I will, eventually, have to fight. I glance longingly back at the knife table. The boy from Eight is still there, alongside another boy and a girl. I watch their throws for a while. One doesn't judge the distance well, and overshoots the target by a mile. The other just misses the board. I allow myself a small smile, and then feel Peeta watching me.

"Seems you've found something you're good at then."

After lunch, I find my way to the archery station. The advisor there offers to help me but I turn her down. I've seen my sister shoot, how hard can it be?

As it turns out, very hard. I manage to hit the target every time, my aim is good, but as soon as the targets begin to move, I begin to struggle. By the time I've lined up the shot, the target has shifted. The arrow is fast, but is more susceptable to change with the wind. Surprisingly, I seem to lack Katniss' patience: the ability to breathe and focus on the movement of my target. I put the bow away after an hour, and, despite Peeta's warning, I return to the knife station.

I find that the more I throw, the more my confidence grows. I feel the little girl beginning to leave me, and a harder shell building. For the first time in my memory, I feel anger. Anger at the Capitol. On behalf of my District, on behalf of my father, my sister, the other Tributes. I find myself having dangerous thoughts. Maybe the Games have changed me, but I feel more myself than I have ever felt. I throw harder, aim better, my mind racing with images: President Snow, observing the parade from behind his glass screen, watching us all, his eyes in the sky and in our Peacekeepers and even in our own reflections. And I _hate_ him. How can a man sit back and watch children die for our nation's own bloodthirsty entertainment? How can he allow an entire District to starve and then force them to fight, knowing they will never win? What kind of sick farce has he built that celebrates a child who has fought to the death against twenty-four others, a challenge of strength against those who have none? What kind of man is this? I think of Katniss, and Gale. They figured this out, all by themselves, and they planned to run from it. I wonder if they suceeded, if they are somewhere out there right now. Of course they aren't. Katniss could never leave without knowing what happened to me, and Gale has not given up on me. I _know _it. I wonder how many others there are out there, how many other people are on the run, or planning it, how many angry men and women there are. _Everybody's angry underneath, it just takes something to spark it all off. No wonder they can only have one winner, they can't allow twenty-four angry kids back into society._

I cry out as my final knife flies from my fingertips and sinks itself in it's victim's chest. I feel the anger burning in my eyes. The room is silent, whether they are watching me or not, I have no idea, but I smile. I smile because I finally know my purpose.

_I'm not supposed to win. But they sure as hell are going to feel my anger._


End file.
